


I am a God

by lovemelikesatan



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Bottom Jensen, Consort!Jensen, Dubious consent due to circumstance and age, M/M, Top Jared, Underage - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 11:45:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovemelikesatan/pseuds/lovemelikesatan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared probably should've told the Lithian's he wasn't a god.</p><p>Probably.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for spnkink_meme prompt: Because I think there´s not enough consent-fics out there, I´d love to read a story about one of the J´s being the very young consent (no younger than 10 please) of the other J (maybe ´round 30?). The young consent is shy and scared of course because he knows what´s expected of him. Maybe J1 has to sit through a long ceremony or the festivities and he´s working himself up, thinking that J2 will just savage him so J2 has to work a little to get J1 (shying away from touches, barely saying a word etc.) to trust him. Pov´s of both of them would be great. Up to author how they ended up together (arranged marriage or a virgin offering to a god or whatever) as long as there´s lots of scared wide eyed underage J1 and lots of extreme horny but caring J2. I prefer Jensen being the underage J1 but it´s no must-see.

Jared probably should have told the Lithians he wasn't a god.   
  
Probably.   
  
He was going to; he really, totally, honestly was. When he stepped from the heavy jungle, cargo clothes drenched in sweat, unable to see more than the blurred edges of the world from the torrential downpour falling so violently it nearly tore his flesh, and nearly tripped over a woman who was bowing low and speaking words he didn't quite understand, he was going to explain he was just passing through the strange land. But the woman had peered at him and he had seen the tear tracks gleaming somehow wetter and darker, had seen the sorrow there, and instead of asking for directions he had crouched low and taken her hand.   
  
It had taken only a moment for her sobbing to mutate into shrieks, screams that were brittle and brutal and blood curtling. She had gripped Jared's face between her trembling nails and stared so deeply into his eyes he couldn't look away. His strength, his brain, his charm, had melted as her gaze split him open and searched the barest aches of his soul.   
  
Then her wailing slowed, flowed into lovely, soft sounds that soothed the scrapes her nails had made on his cheeks and jaw. He couldn't decipher her words, but he caught one fierce, repeated sound.   
  
Bringer. Bringer. Bringer.   
  
Jared hadn't really had time to scoop a damsel into his arm and carry her towards the fuzzy outline of huts; he was lost, in the literal sense, not just the metaphorical sense that had him trekking the jungle to find himself after graduate school, and he needed to find his path before he drowned in the strange downpour. If he got home and told his mama about the encounter, though, and ended his account by saying he'd just walked away, his mama would have slapped him upside the head. She probably would have made him go back, too, see if the lady was still there so he could apologize with a jar of marmalade and his dimpled smile.   
  
So Jared carried her as she chanted. She was still chanting when he walked into the village.   
  
When the entire village had started chanted, he should have made his explanation. 'I haven't brought anything,' he should have said. 'I'm just passing through your neck of the jungle. I'm leaving. I'm on a journey of self-discovery.'   
  
He had been standing in a daze as dozens of men and women in stitched grass and flimsy fabric fell to their knees around him, his mouth open and his brain buzzing and his arms aching because he'd been holding this lady a long time. He had been ready to speak against the overwhelming sight and sound of the village bowing and chanting to him. He had been, he had.   
  
But then _Jensen_.   
  
Jensen had run through the slim space between a pair of huts. Wood had been gathered in his small, shaking arms, and his thin white shirt was matted to his flesh, curving over fresh, supple muscle, kissing dusky nipples the hue of cocoa. Jared had been able to taste the sweetness of those pretty, pretty nubs in the back of his throat, feel the warmth spilling over his tongue.   
  
They had gazed at one another through the slanting, angry rain. Jared doesn't think Jensen had even taken breath when their eyes met. He knows he hadn't.   
  
The thing is, Jared's not a pervert. Not anymore of a pervert than any other red-blooded, head and heart strong, American 27-year-old male, anyway. So he'd clicked a couple of those 'watch teen sluts get fucked!!!' links but he'd always assumed those 'teen sluts' were just young adults playing their youthful looks to their advantage. And so he'd maybe snuck a couple of inappropriate glances when he pulled in to get his car washed for some high school fundraiser or another. But he didn't creep on kids who waited outside his house for the bus and he didn't think of tiny bones and bodies when he fucked. So he wasn't some sort of child molester; he wasn't some sort of monster.   
  
But then _Jensen_.   
  
Jensen was the kind of pretty-beautiful-gorgeous-hot that only existed in the anime porn Jared watched when he was still in high school. Jared was sure the light bursts of sparkles and hearts and stars hovering like a halo around Jensen's matted hair weren't even figments of his imagination or dehydration. He was only 13 (Jared hadn't actually been thinking about Jensen's age in those first moments, though), only a boy, but Jared hadn't been able to look away from him. Jared's hands ached to touch him and Jared's mouth ached to lick the rain from the hollow of his throat, the dip between his delicate collar bones, the sweet belly button he could see through the thinness of the boy's shirt. He didn't think he'd ever been so thirsty in his entire life as he had when he saw Jensen battered in the rain, and he'd been walking without water for nearly a day.   
  
Things kind of got out of hand after that.   
  
Jared kind of let them.   
  
-  
  
The wailing woman, Yevlyn, Jensen's mother, Jensen's Guide, is singing as Jared walks barefoot over flower petals to the altar. She stands between two great trees, trees that have stood for thousands of years, according to the clan, trees that bow towards one another and intertwine, a sign of the love nature holds for them and the wish nature holds for them to unite together in the same love.   
  
As Jared comes to stand to her right, the other Lithians join her song. They all sing with soft, gentle voices. Their songs are warm breezes against Jared's skin. He misses the sound of Jensen's voice, which flows more clearly and more beautifully than any other, trickling like soothing balm and brain numbing pleasure in Jared's bones.   
  
The singing begins to soften, float through the air as a ghost song instead of an angelic one, before fading to a dim, pleasant hum. Jared's skin tightens and his blood starts flowing faster, hotter.   
  
Yevlyn has explained the Binding ceremony many times since Jared became their god. She explained it first in Lithian, then in English. Jared felt kind of bad that the entire village learned his language because they didn't wish to inconvienace their god with learning theirs, but Jared hadn't ever done well in Spanish, no matter how many times he took it, and the weeks he spent teaching Jensen his words so Jensen could teach the rest of the clan were some of the happiest Jared had ever spent.   
  
He remembers the blush on Jensen's cheeks when he had wrapped his hand around Jensen's smaller, shakier one, taught him to form letters in the damp earth. He remembers his own blush as he taught Jensen the words he wasn't supposed to share with the rest of the clan. He really had felt like a pervert, then, but Jensen's plush, sin spinning mouth forming the words 'fuck' and 'cock' and 'asshole' had been enough to drench his guilt in lust and set it aflame.   
  
God, Jared remembers that day. Teaching Jensen body parts, running his fingers over Jensen's palm as he taught the boy 'hand', cupping Jensen's cheeks has he taught the boy 'face', rubbing along Jensen's thighs and calves and ankles as he taught the boy 'leg'. Palming his own cock through his pants, making Jensen blush and look away but peer back in curosity, asking Jensen to touch his own, show Jared that he knew where his dick was, knew what it was, knew how to say it.  
  
Jared releases a breath, closes his eyes. That had been a good, good day, but today... Today is going to be glorious.   
  
The singing begins again, and Jared's heart thumps against his chest. The song will lull as the consort is readied, reminescent of the Lithians and the god's wait for their sacrifice to bloom. The song will return when the consort, wrapped in white, flowing gauze and the flowers the Bringer coaxed to life, is presented for the tribe and their god. That is the song the Lithian's are beginning, meaning Jensen is ready to be brought forth.  
  
Jared can't wait to see him.  
  
After Jensen is presented, Yevlyn will continue the ceremony. They will both speak anciently ordained words. Then Jensen, the living flame, will be presented with a dead flower to offer the god, who will breathe life into it.   
  
Jared really hopes the last part is metaphorical. The Lithians think their god has magic, power: to bring rain and harvest and good fortunes. It's been dumb-as-fuck-luck and Jensen's gentle guidance that has kept up the charade to this point, but Jared doesn’t think that even Jensen, as magical as the boy’s voice and eyes and skin and breath are, can pull off flower ressurection.   
  
Although if anyone could perform such a feat, Jensen would be the one to do it.   
  
There is power in his touch. Jared has seen it when Jensen puts his hand on Yevlyn's shoulder and her worries drain from her body, when Jensen pets a spooked or wild animal and it calms, when Jensen holds a crying child and the pitiful wailing stops.   
  
Jared has felt it pouring from Jensen's palms into his body when Jensen takes him by the hand to lead him here or there, when Jensen attends to his bath and carefully washes his hair, rubs oil into his back and chest, soft cheeks on fire as he skits across Jared's frankly obscene erection. Jared felt Jensen's power the first time the boy tugged his hand to show him inside a hut. It had surged through him like an electric current and he'd been helpless to do anything but follow Jensen, follow that touch and those words.   
  
Lost in thought, he almost misses the swaying of the notes. Almost, but doesn't.   
  
As much of the Lithian culture and custom he's missed or couldn't understand or didn't try to, he has drilled this song into his brain since the first day he heard it. Since he tried to tell Cheif Mordran he wasn't a god and his explanation died in his throat when the Cheif said they were preparing for his Binding to Jensen. Since a chorus of children had shown him what the ceremony would entail. It was adorable, wobby legged youngsters chanting and scampering and pretending.   
  
Jared remembers Yevlyn bringing Jensen to meet with them just as young Aliana had taken her place as the consort. He remembers Jensen looking mildly offended a girl had been playing his part. He also remembers Jensen breaking into a soft smile and soft eyes when the children pushed him to play the role of their god. He remembers thinking Jensen was so damn beautiful, his face and his body, right down to the soul that was bare and raw and beating on his naked chest.   
  
How was he supposed to say he wasn't their god when Jensen was their god's destined consort?   
  
As he opens his eyes, he sees Jensen standing between two throngs of Lithians, his breath catches in his throat and his knees shake. Jensen is more beautiful now than in Jared’s memories; more beautiful now than Jared has ever seen him, has ever seen anyone.   
  
Jensen isn't so much dressed in white - dressed would be a strong, strong term - as he is draped in billowing cloth, as if clouds are swaddling him. The cloth hangs from one shoulder, falling over his chest, tying at his hip. The fabric is broad, covering one of Jensen's nipples, his belly button, a few wisps of downy hair between his hips, the jut of one hip bone. But everything else, his left shoulder, the plane of his body, the soft but strong meat of his thighs, those knees that shake when Jared stands too close or touches him too long, too hotly, and those sweet little feet that Jared just wants to tickle until the boy cries, is on display. There is so much skin, so much pale, freckled, sweet, soft, lovely, gorgeous skin. Jared thinks he's going to be lost in it when he finally gets Jensen to his bed.  
  
There is a ring of golden and red flowers adorning his head. The coloring is stark and rich against Jensen's coloring, against the dim light as rainclouds roll and thunder over their heads. Jared hopes there are no thorns pressing little stings into his consort's pretty little head.   
  
Jared can barely breathe through the lust in his throat as Jensen begins to step towards him. The boy practically floats, sinewy muscles corded with grace and loveliness, as he moves, and Jared recalls a poem one of his college girlfriends wanted him to read her. Because Jensen does walk in beauty, moves through it like a ripple in a dark pool, drenching Jared, drowning him.   
  
The chant grows louder as Jensen glides through the lush grass. Jared's heart beats as the gentle tune grows in power. He can almost feel the buzz of the words, flowing over his skin like bright bursts of energy, can feel their belief in him and their desire, as grand and pure as his own.   
  
Well. Maybe his desire isn't exactly pure.   
  
More of Jensen's lovely form is bared as the boy nears the altar. When he is only a few feet away, Jared's gaze roams his chest, catches on one exposed nipple and darts to the other, barely hidden by gauze. Swallowing, he runs hungry eyes down Jensen's abdomen, follows the path he plans to set with his fingers and tongue and teeth. He nearly groans aloud when his gaze finally settles on that soft, secret place nestled between Jensen's thighs. The outline of Jensen's sweet little cock is nothing more than a sensuous, teasing swell, but it makes Jared's own cock twitch. As Jensen moves and the fabric sways, Jared can make out the light, dusty pink of Jensen's balls.   
  
Just as Jared thinks he's going to fall to his own knees, just push the fabric away and swallow that tempting flesh, just push his tongue up between them and lick the taste of Jensen's skin until those sweet balls are pulsing with what will surely be even sweeter come, Jensen steps beside him.   
  
Jared takes another deep breath. He reminds himself and his cock to calm the fuck down. He's been waiting for months to have Jensen, to be inside of him. He's managed to wait through lonely nights when the scent of Jensen perfumed his hut, leaving his head too full of honey to think or sleep. He's waited through the ritual baths Jensen has given him. He waited when he taught Jensen how to get himself off, whispered the words right in his ear as he held Jensen's wrist and drug Jensen's fist up and down his leaking little dick, telling Jensen a god required a consort who knew of pleasure - which was manipulative as fuck, and wrong, and Jared totally knew that, but his concious couldn't hold a candle to the soft sounds Jensen made when Jared showed him how to touch his own cock. He's waited so very, very patiently. He can wait a little longer for the ceremony to take place.   
  
Chest looser and pants tighter, Jared tries to catch Jensen's gaze. He wants to see the gorgeous calm of peaceful oceans in Jensen's eyes. Those beautiful greens always center him. When he can't perform his miracles and when he's missing home and when he's tired of the jungle heat, he can peer into Jensen's eyes, and everything that hurts or stings inside of him melts away. Jensen makes his soul feel warm, calm.   
  
But Jensen isn't looking at him. His lovely eyes are on the blades of grass, watching as they dance in the wind.   
  
Jared frowns.   
  
"Hey," he whispers, glancing at Yevlyn to see if his voice has disrupted her. Her own eyes are still closed and her mouth is still moving. "Hey, Jensen," he murmurs again.   
  
Jensen's head remains bowed and Jared's frown deepens. He doesn't remember anything about Jensen not being able to look at him during the Binding.   
  
"Jensen," he tries again.   
  
"We must remain quiet," Jensen finally answers.   
  
Jared can feel himself pouting. He should have outgrown his sullen moods by now, but he can't help the sulk that sinks into him when he doesn't get what he wants - what he needs, really, which is just for Jensen to look at him.   
  
"Jen - "  
  
"Quiet," Jensen says softly. "We must remain - "  
  
"Just," Jared blurts, louder than he meant. He winces. He glances around but still, none of the Lithian's have noticed his indiscreet murmurs. "Just look at me, Jen."  
  
Jensen breathes in through his mouth, eyes closing as he exhales. He's trembling, Jared realizes, and he frowns again. He's going to reach out, grasp his shoulder, slide his arm around Jensen's waist, hold him until his shivering eases, but when he lifts his hand, Jensen speaks again.   
  
"Still. We must remain quiet and still."  
  
Frustrated, Jared says, "That doesn't mean you can't look at me."  
  
"Quiet," Jensen hisses.   
  
Jared feels as if he's been reprimanded by a school teacher. He curls his hand into a fist and brings it back to his side. His own gaze drops.   
  
Minutes pass before the Binding song slows again. Jared allows himself to sway into the softness of the melody, the lullaby sweetness of the Lithian's voices.   
  
"Our gift," Yevlyn says as the singing softens to that cool buzz.   
  
Jensen turns to face Jared and finally, finally opens and raises his eyes. Jared is prepared to have his breath stolen and his heart stopped again by all he'll find there. Instead of peace, though, peace and beauty and strength and an adoration for his people that makes Jared ache to be one of them, there is a shining sheen of tears. There is that sweet, fresh, dew coated vulnerability that haunts Jared's wet dreams, but there is also fear. Fear. Jared's stomach twists in nausea and unconsciously, he takes a step back.   
  
"Jensen, my son. My gift to our people. Our people's gift to our god. For our people you will bleed, and your bleed will feed the earth."  
  
Jared's head snaps at that, eyes widening and nausea curdling even colder. He doesn't remember anything about Jensen bleeding when the Chief explained this ritual to him.   
  
It must be a translation error, he thinks. No one would let him hear or see the actual words for the ceremony, so he couldn't work with Jensen to translate it.   
  
"For our people, you will scream, and your scream will heal the earth."   
  
Okay. That's definitely a translation error. Unless the screams are supposed to be those of pleasure. Jared can fully support making Jensen scream in pleasure.   
  
"For our people, you will suffer, and your suffer will cleanse the earth."  
  
Jared's brow furrows as his eyes widen. He glances at Yevlyn, whose eyes are still closed, then at the throng of slowly swaying Lithinians. Everyone seems calm. He glances at Jensen, then, whose trembling has increased.   
  
"Wait," Jared says without thinking.   
  
Jensen narrows his eyes at him, but Yevlyn doesn't stop talking. When Jared opens his mouth to speak again, Jensen's eyes narrow further. The boy's telling him to keep his big idiot mouth shut. Jared can't, though, not with Jensen shaking and terrified as if Jared is going to rip him apart and lick his ribs clean, not with Yevlyn speaking about their Binding as if it's something bloody and brutal.   
  
"Uh, Yevlyn? Hey?"  
  
"Jared," his consort hisses, eyes wide with terror. "We must remain - "  
  
Yevlyn blinks at the sound of Jared's voice. She turns to him, her own green eyes serene as she asks, "Our god?"  
  
"Uh. Hi," Jared blurts, smiling bright as he blunders through what he's going to say. Jensen is still glaring at him. "Um, sorry to interrupt - you were doing great, by the way, just, just so great, with the singing, and stuff. But, uh, I think maybe something got lost in translation."  
  
She tilts her head.   
  
Jared bites his lip, wracking his brain to find a way to ask or explain to her the very fucked up things she's saying.   
  
"The, the Binding," he says, gesturing between Jensen and himself. She smiles, nods, and he smiles back. "Okay. The Binding. That's - I mean, what you were talking about, the blood and screams and suffering - uh, suffer - that's just...that's just part of the Binding, right? That's not. You don't really think I'm going to make Jensen suffer?"  
  
She tilts her head again.   
  
"She needs to finish. Be quiet."  
  
Jared looks at Jensen, who is still fucking shaking like a trauma victim, and huffs.  
  
"Our god?" Yevlyn questions again.   
  
"Tell her she can continue," Jensen says firmly. His eyes are still wet, though.   
  
Frowning, Jared says, "I'm not comfortable with the words she's using. I think the translation got mixed up, and I don't want people thinking I'm gonna make you suffer and stuff. That's the opposite of what I'm gonna make you do."  
  
It only occurs to Jared when Jensen swallows hard and trembles that he hasn't taught the boy what 'opposite' means.  
  
"Our god?"  
  
Jared shoots Jensen a look that he hopes conveys ‘we are so talking about this when we get back to the hut’ before nodding to Yevlyn, gesturing for her to continue. Jensen releases a breath but his body remains tense in its shaking. Jared just wants to hold him until the tremors ease.   
  
Offering a confused smile, Yevlyn graciously bows her head and continues.   
  
“Jared, our god. You bring gift to us. Rain, crop, life. We give gift to you.”  
  
Jensen shudders, and it makes Jared ache. He wishes he could just freeze frame this mess and call Jensen into a huddle, wrap his warm, heavy corded arms around Jensen’s small, shaking frame, kiss his hair, ask him what he’s so afraid of and promise to protect him from it. But Jensen won’t meet his gaze again, and the Lithian’s are still singing, and Yevlyn is still speaking.    
  
“For the life you bring, we give you life. For the seed you raise, we give you gift to spill your seed.”   
  
A blush spreads prettily over Jensen’s cheeks. The sight eases the ache in Jared’s chest but not in his groin, not in his tongue, that’s heavy and hot in his mouth and more than ready to taste the blood hot pink of Jensen’s flush.   
  
“For the earth you save, we give you gift to ruin.”  
  
Jensen’s blush deepens, but Jared isn’t as lost in the spread of twilight rose over Jensen’s lush skin as he is in Yevlyn’ s words.   
  
Ruin? He’s not going to ruin Jensen, and he knows the Lithian’s know what ruin means. One of the pups that run through the village torn his shirt apart, and Jared had thrown the teensiest, eeniest little hissy  
fit about it. That shirt had been torn to shreds When a young girl offered to fix it for him, he’d explained to her – to the tribe, to Jensen – that it was ruined. It could never be fixed, be whole again.   
  
Jared’s not – they can’t possibly think he’s going to do that to Jensen?  
  
Maybe they think Jensen will be impure after Jared fucks him. That fucking will ruin his innocence. Or. Or something. Something that makes more sense than the clan believing Jared would do to this precious,  
sweeter than honey wine boy what a wild dog did to his designer shirt.   
  
“Our gift,” Yevlyn says as she reaches for Jensen’s hand. Jared kind of wants to snap and grab it instead. He doesn’t.  
  
“M-my…my mother,” Jensen stutters.   
  
His voice doesn’t sound anything like it did when he was basically telling Jared to shut the fuck up so his mom could get them hitched already. His voice is watery and weak, like nothing Jared has ever heard from his strong, delicate, perfect little consort. Jensen’s voice is always low and soft but firm. There is no room for sorrow or terror in it. At least, there shouldn’t be.    
  
Then Jensen’s hand starts to shake so wildly Yevlyn begins to shake as well.   
  
“Hey,” Jared murmurs as soothingly as he can.   
  
He moves to rub his palm over Jensen’s bare shoulder, rub comfort into cream flesh as he learns the slope of Jensen’s body, but Jensen flinches as he sees Jared’s hand moving towards him. He flinches violently, as if he’s trying to yank himself so far away Jared will never be able to touch him. It hurts, hurts Jared in a place that is quiet and tender and deep inside.   
  
“Jensen,” he says, voice breaking. He tries to smile, the deep, dimpled smile that always coaxes a shy grin from his beautiful consort, but Jensen only bites his lip as his eyes simmer with tears. Feeling  
strangely helpless, hopeless, Jared pleads, “Jen, hey. It’s just – it’s just me.”  
  
“My mother,” Jensen says quickly, tearing his eyes from Jared’s and squeezing Yevlyn’ s hand. “I h-hope to honor you as the consort of our god. My people. I hope to honor you as the consort of our god. M-my, my god. I am honor to be the consort of our god.”  
  
He speaks in a heart heavy rush. His eyes are squeezed shut and red is blooming on Yevlyn’ s skin from how hard he’s gripping her hand.   
  
“Our gift.”  
  
Jensen doesn’t move.   
  
Jared glances through the sea of faces, hoping to find even a flicker of concern. There is confusion among some, a few bewildered looks exchanged, but everyone’s eyes are on Jensen, as if they’re waiting for more. More words, more terrible promises.   
  
“Wait – ” Jared starts.  
  
“Our gift,” Yevlyn says, more firmly this time, and uncurls her fingers from Jensen’s hand. She places her free hand on Jensen’s arm, urging him to turn. Urging him away from her, even as he shakes, even as  
he stares into her eyes with that wide, tearful, fearful gaze.   
  
“Wait,” Jared says again, more loudly.   
  
But then Jensen is turning to face the crowd.   
  
“My people,” he whispers weakly. There are real tears now, full and fat and hot, welling in the corners of Jensen’s eyes, and Jared’s had e-fucking-nough of this noise. Jensen is obviously terrified of something,  
and Jared isn’t moving a second forward until he calms his consort’s fear.   
  
“Jensen.”   
  
Jared’s whisper is drowned by the resurgence of heavenly voices.   
  
Jensen joins their chant, crying more steadily as he sings. His honeysuckle voice is wavering but still sweet enough to make heat curl through Jared’s body. For a moment, Jared can only watch, entranced by the tragic tone of beauty surrounding Jensen.   
  
A tear slides under the curve of Jensen’s jaw. It breaks the stillness hovering around him. He moves, ready to fit his entire hand around Jensen’s arm and drag him away from this crazy, but Yevlyn reaches for him.   
  
“He must sing,” she says. “For the Binding to be true.”  
  
“It will be,” he snaps, desperate and confused, core shaking in time with Jensen’s own trembles. Yevlyn’ s eyes widen. “It will be true. It already is.”  
  
Watching him with bewildered eyes, she repeats, “He must sing for the Binding to be true.”   
  
“He doesn’t have to sing!”   
  
And the singing stops.  
  
A hundred eyes are on Jared as he sweeps past Yevlyn. Jensen tilts his head and his eyes are red from tears, from heat, so wide Jared could fall into them. When Jared reaches for his arm, they widen even further.   
  
And Jared stops then, too, because the obvious finally crashes through his skull and he realizes Jensen is terrified of him.   
  
Him.  
  
Jensen is shaking, trembling, fearful, crying, because of him.   
  
Disgust and his own sense of terror wrecks Jared inside and out. How could Jensen be afraid of him? He’s never hurt Jensen. He may have come on a little – a lot – strongly, may have held him too long or too tightly, may have spoken more lewdly and roughly than a god was supposed to, but he’s never frightened Jensen. At least, Jensen’s never seemed frightened of him. Hesitant to come too close, shy, sweet, but never frightened.   
  
“The Binding is true,” Jared says roughly.  A hundred mouths, including Jensen’s beautiful, perfect  
one, drop in a gasp.   
  
“He must sing – ”  
  
“No more singing.” Jared speaks to Yevlyn and the crowd, but he stares stormy into Jensen’s eyes, still shining with flowing tears. “He doesn’t have to sing to make it true, and he doesn’t have to fucking cry to  
make it true, either.”  
  
Jensen whimpers, then, whimpers so soft and pitiful, a tender throated rabbit caught in Jared’s  
paw, and his next breath wracks his entire body with a deep sob.   
  
Tearing his gaze away from Jensen, Jared looks into the crowd.   
  
“You want to bind one of your tribe to your god?” Jared hisses. “He’s bound. He’s – uh, binded.”  
  
“He… Has he displeased you, god Jared?” a voice from the crowd questions.    
  
Jensen cries openly at that, falls to his knees, small, crumpled form shaking as murmurs roll through the crowd.   
  
“No. He hasn’t. He won’t.”  
  
“Why no Binding?” Yevlyn questions. She’s watching him, not even glancing at her son as he sobs at their feet.   
  
“The Binding is true!” Jared practically screams. The force of the words scratch his throat. “You want our lives to be intertwined like these trees, right?” he shouts, gesturing to the limbs above him. “They  
are.”  
  
When light doesn’t break the sea of confusion through the tribe, Jared grits his teeth. He appreciates the Lithians, really. They’re a kind people and they think he’s a god, treat him like a god, gave him Jensen,  
who is an angel for real. But they can be dense as a fucking rock and right now they’re making him want to jackhammer those rocks to pieces.   
  
Jared marches over to where his beautiful consort is crumpled on the earth. It’s so pitiful, all Jared wants is to scoop the boy in his arms, free his tiny body and feel it warm against his own, and take him. Take him away, take him to bed, take him home. Take him anywhere.   
  
Instead, he crouches down. He runs his palm along the soft strands of Jensen’s hair. Jensen cries, shakes, harder.   
  
Jared clenches his fists.   
  
“Jen?” he whispers. “Jensen, please, look at me. I’m not going to hurt you, and I’m not angry, I swear, but I need you to help me stop this, okay? Tell them the Binding is true and we can stop.”  
  
Jensen shakes his head.   
  
“Jen.”  
  
“It is n-n-not true,” Jensen sobs pitifully into his hands. “N-n-not.”  
  
“It is not,” Yevlyn echoes, and Jared doesn’t hit nice old ladies but he thinks he’s going to punch her in the throat. “The Binding is not true.”  
  
“The Binding – ” Jared grits, so frustrated he’s going to start crying in a moment.   
  
He realizes that words aren’t helping the situation. So he clenches his jaw, grasps Jensen’s shaking wrist, and pulls them both to their feet. Jensen cries out and Jared mentally soothes the ache he’s yanked in  
Jensen’s arms. He’ll rub oil into his pretty consort’s shoulders later.   
  
Jensen twists in his grip, watching him in wide-eyed terror. Jared digs his fingers into Jensen’s skin, calms his skittish boy, then pulls Jensen flush against his chest.   
  
“The Binding is true,” Jared says. “Jensen is the consort of your god.”  
  
Before anyone can protest, Jared grips Jensen’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and closes the seven or eight inches between his and Jensen’s mouth.   
  
Jensen’s lips are hot against his, fevered, slicked with salt tears. Jared can’t help but think his lovely boy’s lovely mouth shouldn’t be soured with tears. It should be flavored with sweet berries and sweet honey.   
  
Jensen gasps into his mouth. Jared can’t stop his groan at the sweet little puff of breath. He swallows it down before sweeping his tongue past parted lips, searching for any remnants of that soft, precious  
sound, searching for the taste of it on Jensen’s trembling tongue.   
  
When he pulls back, they’re both panting.   
  
“The Binding is true,” Jared says for the final time.

He sweeps his shuddering consort into his arms, murmuring softly to him, and carries his boy-bride to his – their – hut. The Lithian's and the wind are quiet behind them.


	2. Part Two

As Jensen is slung over his god’s shoulder, he thinks perhaps he’s too numb to be terrified anymore. 

When the god deposits him on the rabbit soft, earth rich cloth of his bed-mat, the numbness has shattered, and fear courses through Jensen as fast and swift as the Red River. 

He wonders then if he will ever swim with the children of the village in the Red River again. He wonders if he will ever see the water rushing, the colorful fish jumping, or the jungles jutting from its banks, again. 

Jared is muttering behind him, speaking too quick and too low for Jensen to understand, but Jensen isn’t entirely sure he wants to understand. He doesn’t want to know what his punishment will be for failing his people and his land.

He angered their god. His god. He was a weakling, whimpering and whining through their ceremony, and the strong, mountainous god must have been disgusted. His tears must have brought the strange rage Jensen had never seen swirling about the god’s head. 

Another fresh wave of tears tugs at his eyes. He squeezes them shut, wills his body and heart to be strong, but he can feel himself trembling. Trembling. Shaking like a child who has never ventured further than their own little hut. Shivering like a dog who is too weak to catch its own prey. 

Jensen curls his fingers into his own palm. He asks himself the same question he has asked himself since he was eight years old and was declared the destined consort of their generation. 

Why him? 

He is not wise. His heart has nothing inside of it but soft, tender adoration. There is no fire in him. There is no stone. His body is too fresh and feeble, muscles too young, and he is no warrior. 

How can he please their god? How can he withstand the ravaging their god will wreak upon his weak, wretched body? 

From the moment he was declared consort, Jensen has known he would fail his destiny. If an incarnation of their god were to appear to them in his time, he would fall apart beneath the unfathomable power. 

And Jared is unfathomable. Unfathomable and powerful and more than Jensen could ever survive. 

He will fall apart completely under Jared. The god’s heart, shrouded in a strangeness that makes Jensen wary and curious, will devour his. The god’s hands will rip into his flesh, expect his consort to withstand his strength, and instead find his consort yielding and soft and flimsy. The god’s cock, which is thick and corded with blood heavy veins, which is monstrous and terrifying and beautiful, is going to rip through Jensen’s insides, going to rip them outside. 

The first time Jensen had led Jared through the ritual bath, the first time Jensen had seen Jared’s cock jutting and curving, deadly and dangerous as a spear, Jensen had nearly run. His body had buzzed and a sob had worked its way through his throat, shredding it the way Jared’s cock was going to shred his body. He had been so very, very frightened, and felt so very, very weak. Simpering at the sight of his god’s dick, ready to abandon his destiny and people, he had never felt so unworthy.

But then Jared had smiled at him, soft and shy, like the children of the village when they offered Jensen gifts. The god’s face had been red. Jared had made gentle sounds at him, and though Jensen hadn’t been able to understand the words then, he had understood the tone. He felt the tenderness of Jared’s voice in his heart. 

In that moment, and in the moments that have bloomed since, Jensen has clung to the softness Jared offered, the sweetness no one expected from their god, and told himself he would be strong. He would embrace his destiny. He would make his people proud and keep them well. He would please this god. He would survive. 

He knew, though, knew the moment he saw Jared standing by with mother beneath the Binding trees, that he had lied to himself. 

Every fear rushed to clog his lungs. Every insecurity bit underneath his skin. Every heated moment he had spent with the god, learning to please his own cock so he could please Jared’s when the time came, spilling his own seed underneath the god’s hungry eyes and shrouded in shameful darkness, overwhelmed him. 

And because he could not withstand the pressure of his own soft heart, he had brought the god’s wrath upon his people. The people who loved him, raised him, adored him, treated him almost as if he were a god himself. The people who believed he could withstand the sufferings of a consort to the Bringer, who believed he could be torn and ripped and shredded and remain whole for them and their god. His people, who he has damned. 

He is going to be ruined, the way Jared’s precious, treasured cloth had been ruined by a village dog. Jared had explained what it meant to be ruined: to become unfixable, to be torn apart so ruthlessly and completely that the wounds would be impossible to repair. He is going to be ruined in their first coupling, and the god will be without a consort, and will unleash his wrath upon the Lithian people and land. 

The sound of his name on the god's lips rips Jensen from his despair. It is sudden and violent, the quickness with which he realizes wallowing in sorrow will bring only more sorrow, not only to him but to his people. 

A hot flush expands in his chest, gobbling up his air. The pain in his lungs is white and aching but it is bright, cleansing his brain. 

He hears the rustle of Jared stepping closer, hears Jared whispering to him, and though terror and despair grip him, he forces his hollow, stupid body to move. 

Trembling, he pushes himself to sit on the bed. He forces himself to open his stinging eyes and meet Jared's gaze. 

There is a strangeness in those eyes, gold and green and brown, each color of the earth, a mark of his godliness. There is something deep and dark and raw, the split insides of an animal, and Jensen can see his ruin rumbling softly in those eyes. 

But the ruin of his people does not have to be reflected with his own. 

"My god," Jensen begins softly. 

He imagines his mouth as a soft thing, imagines his body and his pleas as light and sweet spun as the clouds. He knows Jared takes pleasure in Jensen's tenderness. The god has whispered breathless against his cheeks when they tinged pink with embarrassment and desire, has dragged his lips across Jensen's ear and told him how very sweet and soft and pretty he is. That is what Jensen must be to ease Jared's wrath, to please him, to save his people. 

Jensen will beg for his people. He will beg as sweetly and softly and prettily as he can. 

But then Jared steps forward, immortal features twisted in something Jensen has never seen, and Jensen trembles. 

Jared clenches his strong jaw. Jensen wants to weep. He must not shake and he must not flinch and he must not show the weakness that angers his god so greatly. 

"My god," he says again, lowering his voice, peering from his wet lashes. Lowly, as sweetly as he can, he says, "Jared. Please, my god Jared, I want to honor you. I can."

"You - " The god appears at a loss, mouth hanging open, eyes wide, fingers clenching and unclenching at his side. "Jensen, it's - "

It is difficult for Jensen to find the proper words to convey his shame and his desperation. Jared has taught him many things, and while the language of this incarnation of the god is similar enough to Lithian that Jensen has found it easy to follow, he is unsure now. No other words have ever been as important as these.

Jensen does not understand the sputters his god makes. He wills his body and heart not to tremble as Jared moves towards him, eyes and fingers frantic. Jared collapses on his knees at the edge of the bed, dropping his elbows and palms heavily, watching Jensen with a gaze as open and clear as the sea. 

It stutters Jensen's breathing, heartbeat, blood flow. A god should not look at him with such...desperation. 

"Sorry," Jensen whispers. 

But Jared shakes his head. At first, Jensen thinks it is a denial of his apology, and his eyes widen and more of those hated tears well in his eyes. 

But Jared shakes his head again. "No, Jensen. No," he says quickly. "You don't have to be sorry. You don't have anything to be sorry for. You haven't, haven't done anything wrong." 

Jensen pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying the flesh until Jared's gaze drops to his mouth. It is distracting for the god, Jensen's mouth. Jensen has noticed the way Jared's eyes track his lips and tongue, the way they darken, the way his breathing speeds. 

Jensen releases his lip then. As Jared sighs, he swipes his tongue over his lips, leaving his mouth wet and shining. 

"I didn't make your anger?" Jensen asks gently. 

Jared swallows heavily once before shaking his head, motion quick and jerking. "No," he breathes. "No, of course not. I'm not angry with you, I could never - not you, Jensen. I'm angry - was, was angry, with them. Yevlyn kept using the wrong words and you were so scared but it was like no one cared and I got so fucking frustrated."

His voice continues to grow in depth and power, and Jensen is still shaking when Jared takes a sharp breath, clenches his fist, and closes his eyes. 

"I'm not angry. Not with you, Jen." He opens his eyes. "I just - I didn't want to see you cry. It was fucking awful. I felt like I was going crazy, watching you cry."

"Crazy?" Jensen echoes, tilting his head. 

Jared smiles at him. The tenseness of his strong body eases. It eases some of Jensen's tension, too. Jared's happiness, his smiles, laughter, lust, draw peace and joy and desire in Jensen. It is Jensen's destiny, of course, for his heart to be entwined with Jared's in that way. 

"Not...good. Uh, not, not normal. Or calm. Or...good."

"You felt not...good, when I - I." Jensen cannot even bare to say the words. 

"Yes," Jared says, firmly, quickly, eyes hot. "I felt very not good when I saw you cry. I hated it, Jensen. I never want to see you cry again."

Jensen nods. He knew his weakness had been displeasing. 

"I won't," he vows fiercely. "I won't cry again."

"No. No, that's not - I mean, I don't want you to cry ever again. But it's not that I don't want you to do it. I don't want you to have anything to cry over, Jensen." Very softly, Jared adds, "I don't want you to be sad. Or scared."

Jensen bites his lip again. It doesn't distract Jared enough to keep him from leaning further against the bed. Jensen manages not to flinch but his breath does hitch. 

Hurt blooms in Jared's eyes. 

Jensen wants to weep again, though he promised he never would. 

"You are scared, aren't you, Jensen?" the god whispers softly. 

"N-no." The stutter in his voice betrays him. 

"Hey, hey. It's okay. It's okay to be scared, okay?"

It is not 'okay', Jensen knows, but he nods to show his god he is listening, trusting, believing. 

Jared offers another smile. "Okay. But you don't need to be scared. Not of me."

Jensen drops his gaze to the bed. His god doesn't know that he is going to ruin Jensen any more than the Lithians do. They all have such faith that Jensen's body and heart and mind can survive the ravaging. Such faith, and Jensen deserves not an ounce of it. 

"I won't hurt you. I would never hurt you, I promise, I swear. I think - I mean, I know, there was a lot lost getting the ceremony in English. I'm not going to make you bleed or suffer."

Jensen blinks, confused. 

"The ravaging - " he begins, unsure of how the god can be unaware of what their Binding will entail, but Jared interrupts him. 

"What the fuck," Jared hisses, jaw flaring. "What the fuck is this ravaging?"

Jensen blinks again.

"It..." He shakes his head, attempting to clear the terror and fog there, and clears his throat of fear. "You make our lands fertile and good. You keep them sweet and young. I am your gift, god Jared. Your reparation. We ravage the land you make bloom, and so you will ravage what the Lithians have make bloom."

It's as if Jared's entire being sags with shock at Jensen's words. Jared's brows and eyes and mouth hang open wide, his shoulders, the width of the world, slump, and he leans back on his knees. 

"My god - "

"Ruin," Jared whispers, then looks pained, as if the word cut his lip. Jensen tries not to shudder, but he does, and his god sees him, as his god always sees him. Jared is shaking his head, running a hand through his hair, as he repeats himself. "Ruin. That's why - fucking fuck on a fucking fuck, that's why she said ruin. That. She thought I...they think..." His eyes widen even further and he stares into Jensen's face with an aching Jensen wishes desperately he could ease. "That's what you think I'm going to do to you?"

Slowly, Jensen nods. 

"It is your right. When our gods appear, they want to ravage. To...ruin." Jensen says the last word softly, dropping his gaze to the side. 

"That's...that's fucked up." Jared is still shaking his head when Jensen looks back at him. Their gazes meet, and Jared shuffles forward on his knees. "Jen. You, you have to know. You have to know that's wrong."

Brows furrowed, Jensen considers his god's words. He cannot make sense of them. 

"I...god Jared, surely you must know. This is how it has always been, always will be. Generations of consorts have suffered the Bindings. Only the strongest are chosen. Only those who can endure."

Except for Jensen, who is not the strongest, and knows he cannot endure. 

His head dips in shame. "Sorry," he whispers again. "I am sorry, god Jared, my god, but I don't think I can - I know I was chosen for you, and this is what you have appeared for, but please, spare my people. Don't hurt them for my failings."

"Wha - ?" Jared sputters. His expression is horrified. Horrified. Because Jensen is so very, very disappointing. Jensen closes his eyes. "No, hey, Jensen. No. Open your eyes. Look at me."

Jensen cannot.

Jared releases a sharp, frustrated breath. "Jensen," he says again. "Look at your god."

And Jensen still cannot, but he cannot disobey his god. 

"I didn't come here to ravage you."

Shock shoots through Jensen, a cold, steel line curling around his spine. 

"But..." Jensen founders, feels as if he's drowning. "God Jared, you - why else would you have come?"

Jared is silent several moments. A war plays on his face, intense and dreadful. Jensen wants to smooth his hand over Jared's forehead, soothe those lines digging harshly in his skin. 

"I came here," Jared says, slow and soft, gaze shaking. Then he shakes his head, meets Jensen's gaze, and holds it. "I came here for your people, Jensen. To help your people and your lands. But mostly...fuck, Jen. I came for you. To find you. And now that I have, I'm not going to ruin you."

Heart hammering in his chest, breath floating far from his lungs, Jensen can only gape, open-mouthed and wide-eyed and bewildered at his god. 

"You..." he whispers. Tears are falling down his cheeks again, but he knows he is helpless to stop them, and does not try to escape the heat that rolls down his face. "Y-you...you aren’t?"

"No," Jared breathes. "No. Never."

Jensen licks his lips again, tastes salt, feels Jared's gaze on his trembling mouth. He has no idea if he should be enticing his god anymore, though. If he should be begging sweetly or thanking his god by placing his shaking hands on that awful, gorgeous cock or running into the jungles and giving his body to the hungry who lurk in it. 

"What are you going to do?" Jensen asks, shaking, terrified, hopeful, so full of bright blinding hope that it's terrifying. "What are you going to do to me?" 

The smile that unfurls on Jared's face glitters golden as the sun. Jensen can barely breathe in the face of it. 

"I'm going to take care of you."

-

It isn't until Jensen's gasp, soft and breathy and tempting, so tantalizing, beckoning Jared to fill the pretty little 'o' of Jensen's pink lips with his tongue and cock, that Jared is fully conscious of what he's said. 

It isn't until the curious waver of hope in Jensen's tearstained eyes that Jared realizes his words are true.

He didn't really come here for Jensen or the Lithians, of course, but he did come to find himself. He found Jensen instead, which he's sure is actually infinitely better. He probably wouldn't have even liked what he would find in the deep, damp and dark crooks of his soul, but he likes everything about Jensen, whose insides glow in the beauty of his flesh. 

And he is going to take care of Jensen. 

Before, when Jensen was offered on the grass-mat platter to serve as his pretty little consort, Jared had promised himself he wouldn't forget Jensen's pleasure as he lost himself in his own. The last guy he messed around with said he wasn't a 'generous' lover, which Jared resented, even if he realized it was kind of true. As soon as he realized what the Lithians were offering, what he was going to take, though, he'd made a conscious mental note that he was going to make Jensen come at least twice before he did. That was more than generous, he thought. 

But now, looking into Jensen's shattered eyes, Jared knows he's going to have to give more than a drawn-out blowjob to truly care for his precious gift. And he wants to truly care for this beautiful boy, because Jensen is gorgeous and sweet and perfect and his. The Lithians handed Jensen over for him to ruin - and his blood pulses angry at the thought - but his body and heart and future belong to Jared now. He isn't Lithian. He isn't even the Lithians god. He can do whatever he wants with Jensen, to him, with no regard to their fucked-up tradition. 

Jared's cock is aching and he presses his hips against his makeshift bed. He tries to think over the pulsing beat of lust, of want, of ownership and possession and Jensen is yours take him take him take him. He has to breathe through the desire in his lungs. 

"I'm here to love you, Jensen. Not ruin you."

He tries to sound soothing, comforting. His voice is a rasp, a drag over the burning coals of need in his throat, and he hopes that doesn't terrify his lovely consort anymore. He wants to ease Jensen's fear. He wants to prove to the boy that he can be trusted with his most vulnerable, precious possession. 

Jensen is watching him with such raw, guileless confusion and despair, Jared's heart tightens as heavy and wanton as his dick. 

"I don't..." Jensen breathes, trails off, bites his lip. Jared doesn't lean in to lick the boy's spit and the soft indentions of his teeth. Mentally, he pats himself on the shoulder. "God Jared, I want to please. I don't... I know I'm weak - "

"You're not," Jared interrupts. He has no idea how such a ridiculous idea wormed its vicious way into Jensen's pretty head, because Jensen is the strongest, fiercest spirit he has ever known. He doesn't have much of an idea of how to stomp that insecurity into dust. 

"But you..." Jensen clenches his jaw, his fists. His eyes flash, lovely and breathtaking and so hot Jared's belly burns, and he meets Jared's gaze. "You must think I'm weak. You would ravage me if I were strong. If I could - if I could withstand. I'm weak. Too weak for you."

More tears well hot and fat in Jensen's eyes. He closes them, drops his head, shame written boldly on his still trembling features. 

Slowly, so very slowly and so very softly, Jared slides his palm towards Jensen's shaking form. He doesn't touch the fresh skin of Jensen's legs. He wants to touch, touch Jensen everywhere, but he attempts to offer the comfort of touch without enflaming Jensen's fear of being touched. Jensen glances at his hand, takes a sharp breath. He doesn't flinch, though, or move away. 

Jared takes it as a sign of progress.

Smiling as gently as he can, Jared pitches his voice low, whispers soothing and soft, the way he's heard Jensen coo to the children of the village. 

"You're not weak," he says. When Jensen closes his eyes again, Jared bites the inside of his cheek. His head is close enough to the water's surface to see Jensen's light, but not close enough to feel it. He panics internally that he won't figure out how to reach him. 

Then Jared's brain shakes and produces something legitimately useful (for once). Jared is a god. 

No one can argue with a god. No one can deny a god. 

"Jensen. Look at me. Look at your god." 

It feels a little strange and a lot thrilling to issue the command again. 

Jensen, who had closed his eyes again, flutters that evergreen gaze and looks directly into Jared's own. There is so much terror shaking there. It hurts Jared's heart. 

Reminding himself that he is a god, is Jensen's god - and God if that doesn't make his hunger, his aching cock, his swollen balls, absolutely drool - he rolls his shoulders, straightens his spine, pitches his chest forward. He’s going for powerful, but Jensen trembles. 

Fuck, Jared thinks, but doesn’t slouch or ease. 

“I am your god,” he says lowly. Jensen shivers. “I am the Bringer. I command the earth, the sky, the sea. I command your people and I command you, Jensen. I have more power than you or your people can imagine. And I have chosen you, exactly as you are, to be my consort.”

Mouth wide in confusion (so damn pretty it’s obscene, so damn obscene Jared has to drop one hand and press his palm against his pulsing cock), Jensen’s entire body shudders. 

“God Jared,” he breathes, beautifully, achingly vulnerable and sweet. “I don’t…understand.”

“It’s not for a mortal to understand the decisions of a god,” Jared tells him, because he guesses it sounds like a thing a god would say. A kind of dick-ish god. But Jared’s taking a 13-year-old boy as a consort, so if he really were a god, he would be kind of a dick-ish one. 

“Sorry,” Jensen mutters quickly, dropping his head again. 

Jared sighs. He wants to slam his face into something, maybe a wall or the side of a mountain. That wouldn’t accomplish anything, though, would only show his ability to bleed and then he wouldn’t have a chance to calm Jensen’s skittish nerves and fear. He’d be too busy running from the Lithian’s shaking spears. 

If only he could touch Jensen, hold him, settle the trembling boy in his lap, he could coo and soothe with his hands as well as his words. 

“Jensen,” he says softly, drawing the boy’s gaze. “I know the other god’s wanted their ravaging. But that’s not what I want, not at all. I know you’re afraid, but can’t you believe me? Can’t you believe your god when he says he doesn’t want to hurt you?”

It’s a cheap manipulation, but Jared is desperate here; desperate to ease Jensen’s fear, desperate to bring the sunshine smile back to his face, desperate to stake his final and everlasting claim on his consort. 

The calculating words achieve Jared’s goal, at least. Jensen blinks a few moments before understanding breaks, a white wave on Jensen’s black shores. He nods. 

Jared smiles. “Look into your heart, Jensen. It’s your destiny to be mine. You’ve always belonged to me. Don’t you feel it? Don’t you feel it here?” He places his palm over his heart as he asks. “Can’t you feel me there? Wanting you? Keeping you safe? Loving you?”

Jensen actually drops his gaze to his chest, eyes roaming over his exposed flesh. It’s an adorable motion that mutates into something unintentionally tempting as Jensen gingerly presses his fingers to his own chest. 

“I…I do feel something,” Jensen whispers in awe. Jared wonders if it’s his heartbeat, life pulsing through him that he’s never felt before, or if he can truly sense Jared’s sincerity under his own skin. It’s a ridiculous notion, of course, but crazier things have happened. Jensen snaps his gaze from his chest to Jared’s face. His eyes are bright and wide with wonder. “I do feel you, god Jared. I feel you inside of me.”

And fucking shit. Jared has to grip his cock again, bite his tongue to keep from groaning. Jensen’s lovely voice is full of breathy awe, so innocent and so sweet, speaking the exact words Jared’s over-zealous libido is starving to hear.

Taking a deep breath, regaining a sliver of self-control, Jared turns his palm upward, offering it to Jensen’s curious eyes. 

“Do you trust your god?” 

Jensen hesitates. It is only for a moment. 

“Yes,” he whispers. 

Relief floods Jared’s body. Relief and joy and other bright, blinding emotions he can’t distinguish or name. His chest is loose with light. 

“Give me your hand.” 

Jensen’s hand is still trembling as he places it on Jared’s, but it’s not shaking as much as it was earlier. Jared smiles gently. He traces his thumb over the soft skin of Jensen’s knuckles, rubs reassuring circles until Jensen’s shudders ease.

“You can feel yourself – ” and it takes everything in Jared to say the next words with a straight face and even breathing “ – in me.”

Keeping his grip on Jensen’s hand as light as possible, he eases Jensen’s fingertips to his own chest. Jensen has to stretch forward a little to reach him. 

He places Jensen’s palm flat over his own heart. Jensen takes a surprised breath, jerks under Jared’s fingers, but doesn’t try to pull away. 

“Close your eyes,” Jared whispers. Jensen does. “Breathe.” He waits for Jensen’s soft breaths to even out before asking, “Can you feel it?”

“Yes,” Jensen breathes. “You feel like me.”

“Yeah,” Jared says, smiling. Jensen smiles tentatively back. 

Having eased Jensen’s most immediate terror, Jared shifts his focus to those buried deeply in Jensen’s eyes. 

He slides his fingers under Jensen’s palm. Keeping his gaze locked with Jensen, he brings Jensen’s hand to his lips. He reminds himself to be gentle as he brushes his mouth over Jensen’s fingers. As much as he’d like to just suck them in his mouth, lick the sweat from Jensen’s fingertips, then coax Jensen to slide his own little fingers inside of himself, he holds his tongue still. 

Jensen’s breath stutters as Jared kisses his knuckles. 

“God Jared…” he whispers. Color is sinking high in his cheeks. Black is beginning to widen in his pupils. 

Against Jensen’s skin, Jared smirks. 

“You are so good, my consort,” Jared breathes. “I only want to make you feel good.” He shifts Jensen’s hand, places a soft kiss on the tip of Jensen’s thumb. Jensen gasps softly. “How does it feel, Jen, when I put my mouth on you?”

Jensen seems at a loss for words until Jared presses his lips to Jensen’s palm. 

“G-good,” Jensen shudders as Jared drops gentle kisses, traveling to the tender flesh of his boy’s wrist. “Oh. That – good. Your mouth feels so good.”

Jared can’t help but groan against the vulnerable skin. He also can’t help snaking the tip of his tongue out to lick a feather light strip against the sweet, soft flesh. 

“Oh,” Jensen breathes again. 

When Jared glances at him, Jensen’s eyes are fluttering, but he’s watching Jared’s lips move against him. 

Lips moving over Jensen’s wrist as he speaks, Jared asks, “You know how it feels when you touch your cock?”

The sound Jensen makes is so soft, it seems almost painful. Jensen nods quickly, blush deepening. Unconsciously, or maybe completely consciously, he scoots his entire body closer to Jared. 

Grinning, Jared traces a figure eight on Jensen’s wrist, tasting sweat and sweetness.

“That’s how I’m going to make you feel.”

Jensen’s answering gasp is much louder than his earlier exhale. 

“God Jared,” he whispers, eyes and voice trembling with awe. 

Jared presses kisses down the length of Jensen’s forearms, feeling more than a little Gomez-Adams-esque and not caring, not caring about anything other than the soft shivers of Jensen’s soft skin and the shocked, breathy noises pouring hot as steam from Jensen’s lovely mouth. 

He reaches the crook of Jensen’s elbow. Instead of just kissing the bend, he ghosts his fingertips along the flesh, raising it as he goes. 

“I’m going to make you feel even better than when you touch yourself.”

“Better?” Jensen squeaks. “It – it can be…it can feel better than when I…?”

Jared smiles into Jensen’s elbow. “So much better,” he whispers. “Can I show you, Jensen? Will you let your god take you to the sky?”

It’s a totally corny line, but Jensen doesn’t have the experience to know how stupid Jared sounds. Eyes wide, Jensen nods. 

“Yes,” he answers quickly, sweetly. “Please, god Jared. Please.”

He asks so beautifully, Jared can’t deny him.


End file.
